


Between Walls and Harvest Moons

by frombluetored



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Mum!Ginny to the rescue always, ginny accepting albus no matter what is my life, ginny hexing rita is my life, ginny weasley is just life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frombluetored/pseuds/frombluetored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gin,” Harry began. He took her hands in his. “I wish he’d gotten more from you and less from me.”  Ginny studied his aching eyes. Her heart was a swollen, stinging beast. Lately, she could’ve used a break from it, but there was no telling where those two would’ve ended up without its guiding light.  “I don’t. I love you both just the way you are.” [Post DH, takes place during Albus' third year in Cursed Child. An examination of Ginny Potter's love. Mild spoilers for CC.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Walls and Harvest Moons

“Good morning, Ginny Potter!”

The way in which Rita Skeeter delivered her false greeting was so sickeningly sweet that it might’ve been considered a cheat on Ginny’s no-sugar diet.  She paused briefly in the doorway, eyelids heavy with exhaustion, and stared at the horrid colleague blocking her path into her own office.

“Rita,” she greeted flatly. She stepped to the right, with the purpose of evading Rita for as long as possible, but Rita mirrored her actions, stepping to the side to block her path. Ginny sighed. “Rita, I’m dreadfully tired—not much sleep—and I don’t really fancy wasting any magical energy on hexing you, but if you don’t _move—”_

“Hmm, tired, do you say? Issues at home? Issues with Harry?”

Ginny tensed. Her hand flew automatically to her wand, tucked in the pocket of her robes. Rita peeked triumphantly over the rhinestoned rims of her glasses, an (unfortunately) familiar look of discovery blanketing her features.

“ _Ooh_ ,” she breathed. She stepped closer, bringing with her a somewhat putrid smell of burnt coffee mixed with heavy lavender perfume. “Yes—things aren’t going well? Divorce, you say? _Another woman_ , perhaps?”

With a speed Ginny hadn’t had to utilize in _years,_ she had her wand withdrawn and stabbed pointedly into the droopy flesh hanging beneath Rita’s chin. Her heart was pounding—whether mainly from anger or lack of sleep, she wasn’t sure— and she would’ve liked nothing better than to have bat-bogey hexed Rita to the point of unconsciousness. It had happened once, though admittedly not to Rita. She’d like for it to happen again now to the blonde in front of her.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves—”

Ginny interrupted Rita. She kept her voice quiet and deadly, so as to make sure Rita understood just how serious she was.

“I thought I’d made myself painfully clear when we began working together that _my private life_ is not any of your business. We’re not friends, I won’t chat with you, and I won’t hesitate to hex you the next time you block me from my office and ask me rude questions. Now get out of my way, _now_.”

Rita grimaced, but when Ginny’s barely-restrained anger sent unplanned sparks from the tip of her wand, she quickly leapt from the doorway, screeching. Ginny had wrenched her hand back the moment she felt the energy pooling inside the wand, but it was too late; she sighed as Rita pawed at her chin, where there were two red welts the size of knuts.

“I didn’t mean to. Come here. Come _here_.” She snapped. Rita reluctantly sulked towards her, her eyes wide and her long nails scratching frantically at her own throat. She jumped back warily when Ginny raised her wand. Ginny snapped again. “I’m only going to heal it. Would you hold still?”

Rita—grumbling and cursing magnificently underneath her breath the entire while—stood in place as Ginny quickly healed the burns. Rita felt at her mended skin with interest once Ginny stepped back.

“You’re quite good at that. Healed a lot of your children’s burns?” Rita pressed.

Ginny knew better than to respond in any way. If she said _yes_ , she’d wake in the morning to the headline: _Hot Questions: Why do the Potter Children Have so Many Burns?_. If she said _no_ , she’d wake to: _Absent Mother Ginny Potter has Never Done First-Aid_. It had been a mistake to even mention the fact that she’d had little sleep, but in her extreme exhaustion, she’d been sloppy. She’d have to pay the consequences now.

She made a noncommittal noise and then stepped into her office.

“Goodbye, Rita.”

She shut the door firmly in Rita’s face.

* * *

It took Ginny until lunch to realize that Rita had been up to something more than just forcing Ginny into a conversation that morning.

She exchanged a few memos with the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, attempted to begin editing a few new pieces that had made their way onto her desk that morning, and then somehow got roped up in a pointless drama between the Montrose Magpie Keeper and the Kenmare Kestrels Keeper. After nearly catching a hex to the face meant for Magpie’s Keeper, she was forced to disarm them both and then physically push them apart, more aware in that moment of her short and small stature than ever before. She was shaking from exhaustion and irritation by the time both were back in the Floo.

“I’m done!” She announced, stepping from her office into the larger cache of the Ministry-based _Prophet_ office. She snatched her cloak off the rack. “I’m taking my lunch hour.”

The bravest of the receptionists dared to speak up. “Mrs. Potter, it’s not even ten, and there’s one more issue to—”

“I. _am taking_. my lunch break.” Ginny repeated, her teeth gritted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in such a temper. She hadn’t done accidental magic, like she’d done that morning, in decades. The most recent she could recall had been during her sixth year, watching Carrow torture Neville. Incidentally, that day was _also_ the day she’d performed her most intensive bat-bogey to date.

“Right. Of course.” Caroline—the receptionist—quickly dropped back down into her seat and said no more. Ginny ignored everybody’s wide-eyed stares as she stamped from the room. She knew she’d made further mistakes in showing her anger, because Rita was surely going to add that to her next piece about Ginny and Harry’s ‘divorce’. Ginny ground her teeth as she made her way to the lifts, already envisioning the opening lines: _Ginny Potter arrived to work in a towering temper after presumably ending things with long-time husband and savior, Harry James Potter. I, Rita Skeeter, Correspondent for the Daily Prophet, encountered Mrs Potter early yesterday morning. Upon attempting to console my despondent colleague, she hexed me in a sorrowful rage, and I regret to inform our readers that I’ll bear the scars from my encounter with the unstable ex-Chaser for the rest of my days…_

“Ginny. Ginny!”

Ginny jumped, torn from her rage-induced thoughts and hurdled back into the lift. She found herself looking up into her dad’s lined face. He was frowning deeply and clutching that morning’s edition of the _Prophet_.

“Dad, morning, sorry,” she rushed out. She hugged her father and then leaned back, peering at him sternly. “What are you doing here? You know what _retirement_ means, right?”

His smile was a bit sheepish. “Yes, well, there was an incident and Bartly needed some advice so…” he trailed off and cast a critical eye over his daughter. “Ginny, is everything okay? Part of the reason I…well.  I wanted to make sure…things are okay. I mean, I know Rita’s always spouting rubbish, but…”

“What?” Ginny asked sharply. She reached for the _Prophet_ in Arthur’s hands and pulled it to her. She’d seen and approved that morning’s sports pages, but had yet to peruse the rest of the edition with how hectic her morning had been. Now that she smoothed it open, she found herself staring at a sickening headline, and a miserable photo of her middle child. Her heart lurched with enough force to leave her feeling nauseated. She cursed underneath her breath. Beneath the surly photo of Albus setting his Hogsmeade permission form on fire, taken just yesterday at Platform 9 ¾, the headline read: _What’s Wrong with Woeful Albus?_

She was shaking. She hardly registered the ding of the lift. Hardly noticed that she was blocking the way. Hardly felt the pushes of witches and wizards as they shoved past her. She breathed slowly and deeply though her nose, her rage and protectiveness only heightened by her exhaustion.

Her dad was looking at her carefully. He knew her temper, and he knew her expressions.

“Ginny…”

The lift opened at Level 2.

“Got to find Harry.” Ginny said, in lieu of _goodbye._

She ignored all the friendly greetings called her way as she stormed through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She pressed the tip of her wand into the security sensor on Harry’s office door, and once it recognized Ginny, the door swung open. She slapped the _Prophet_ down onto his desk with enough force to send two of his haphazard piles of papers careening towards the floor. With raised eyebrows, and a slight wave of his wand, the papers flew back up and into their prior place.

“Hi, Gin.” He greeted carefully, appraising her tentatively. He hadn’t seen it yet, then.

“You’re going to have to arrest me,” Ginny greeted. “Because I am _going_ to murder her. You can’t talk me out of it, so don’t even try! I’d gladly take Azkaban if it meant this _filth –_ ” she stabbed the _Prophet_ with her wand, singeing a hole through the top of the first page “—stops!”

Harry warily leaned forward, hunching his body forward over his desk as he examined the _Prophet_. As soon as he spotted their son, he went up in arms just as violently as Ginny had. He looked up at her, his eyes flashing.

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs!” Ginny fumed, pacing a path into Harry’s messy office floor now. “That’s what she was doing in my office this morning—she’d stolen the other pages of my morning _Prophet_ , to make sure I couldn’t tweak her story before it ran this morning! I only had my sports pages on my desk, but I was busy, and I didn’t think—”

A sudden, intense wave of guilt washed over Ginny. She slouched, her spine curving underneath the weight of it, her eyes squeezing shut again.

“Oh, how could I be so _stupid_?” She muttered, more to herself than to Harry. “Harry, when Albus sees this…” she trailed off. She didn’t need to tell him that he’d be mortified and furious. That it would tear an even _bigger_ divide between him and his father (and probably now his mother, too, because he’d blame her for letting it get printed). It couldn’t stand. Ginny wouldn’t have it. She wouldn’t let Skeeter make Albus' years as difficult as she’d made Harry’s. Albus was her baby; from the moment she’d held him, she’d sworn to him—as she had to Lily and to James—that she wouldn’t let anybody harm them. It was bad enough that she’d failed in that mission. It was bad enough that he was hurting himself and Ginny couldn’t find a way to protect him. Now the entire school would know he was having issues, would tease him or pity him—

Harry was at her side now. She hadn’t noticed him standing. He wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her strength to straighten despite the weight of her guilt.

“ _Not_ your fault,” he told her firmly. His eyes were searing with anger, though she knew it wasn’t aimed towards her, even if perhaps it should’ve been. “We’ve still got time. The owls wouldn’t have made it to breakfast at Hogwarts yet. We’ll make Rita change it.”

The papers employed a charm not unlike the Protean Charm they’d used for their DA coins, enabling the news to be updated throughout the day in the event of new breaking news. Ginny didn’t have to ask Harry how they were going to achieve this, because as they locked eyes, they mutually understood one thing: they would do whatever they had to. They were not going to let anything else hurt Albus.

* * *

For a brief moment, she pitied Rita Skeeter. Harry entered the woman’s office with such an air of powerful fury that he gave off a distinctly frightening aura. Ginny had only seen it on him once before. And Voldemort hadn’t lived long after it.

Ginny carefully shut the door after them. Rita sank back into her chair in fright when Ginny immediately casted a Muffliato charm and Harry rounded on Rita, wand in hand.

“My _son_ , Rita?! Of all the horrible things you’ve done—you’re having a go at my _underage son_?!”

Rita attempted to feign calmness. “I was well within my rights; you two were in a public place, the conversation I’ve written about was overheard in a public place, the photo was taken in a public place—”

“How would you like your case tried in a public place?!” Harry roared. “What makes you think I’d just let you run this story?”

His wand hand was shaking. Ginny’s eyes locked in on it and she quickly stepped in.

“Rita, you need to pull that story back _immediately_ , or Harry will arrest you right now for being an unregistered animagus.”

Rita scoffed. “Potter, you can’t just hold that over my head for the rest of my—”

“Yes, I bloody well can! Change it! _Now_! If my son sees this headline, so help me—!”

Rita inched back as Harry’s temper flared again. She reluctantly grabbed her copy of the morning _Daily Prophet_ , and with a cross look their way and a few more muttered curses, she tapped the article, quickly swapping it out with an article on the recent Nimbus 3000 recall. Once she had, she pinned a nasty look on them.

“With your tempers, it’s no wonder your son’s so off-kilter. Setting things on fire at the station, sulking around Hogwarts getting up to God knows what with the Malfoy boy—”

Ginny’s protectiveness flared. “Shut it about that, there’s nothing wrong with Scorpius Malfoy. His mum’s just died, have some decorum, honestly.” She exhaled so forcefully that her nostrils flared. “And don’t assume that you know _anything_ about Albus or any of our other children.”

Rita regarded them for a long moment.

“If what I hear is true, you two don’t know anything about him, either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry demanded, furious. He surged forward; Ginny barely managed to catch the crook of his arm, keeping him from leaning over Rita’s desk. “Who’ve you been talking to? Who said that? Who are you getting all of this from?!”

“Harry—” Ginny tried.

“No, I mean it! Who?!”

Rita laughed. “Touchy spot?”

Ginny knew the more they reacted, the more information they’d inadvertently give Rita, and the last thing they needed was the press turning against their son, too.

“We’re going now. Keep Albus out of the paper. I mean it.” Ginny bit. She tugged Harry towards the door and then hesitated. “And don’t you _ever_ go into my office and take my _Prophet_ draft from my desk again.”

Harry’s hands were still shaking by the time they returned to his office. Ginny helped him down into his seat and then perched on the edge of his desk. She watched his jaw working as he sulked. For about the billionth time that year, it hit her hard just how alike he and Albus were.

“He’s not okay, Gin. And I don’t know what to do about it.” He kept his eyes trained on his knees. Ginny knew, if he were to look up, that she’d see tears building. “What Rita was writing about—that was true. He really did burn his Hogsmeade permission form. I didn’t tell you because—I dunno. We’d just seen Lily off for her first year, and I didn’t want to…add this on. I don’t know what to do with him. What to say to him. How to _help_ him.” He reached up and rubbed over his scar, an anxious habit he’d never kicked. “I don’t know.”

Ginny mulled over his words, her heart twisting and her stomach turning. She’d known, of course. She’d spotted the commotion with the permission form from the corner of her eye. And she’d known how much it tortured Harry by his lack of sleep the night before. He’d tossed all night, never sleeping for longer than a few minutes at a time. Ginny hadn’t slept, either, tormented for hours about what to do with two of her boys. How to help them _._

“I know what happened.” She finally answered, her voice soft. “Harry…I think the more we try and push this idea of Hogwarts as a wonderful place, the harder he’s going to resent it.”

Harry slid his hands up into his hair, gripping it anxiously. “But he won’t even give it a _chance_ …”

“I know. I know. I wish he would, too. I want him to be happy, too. But I think…” she paused and took a moment to order her thoughts. She took a deep breath. “I think we’re not really thinking…widely enough. You know? What made us happy, what was happiness for us, isn’t necessarily happiness for Albus. What is happiness for James isn’t happiness for Albus. Maybe he’s happier alone in the dorms with his best mate than he’d be at Hogsmeade.”

“Or maybe he’s alienating himself and won’t even _try_ to enjoy himself.” Harry muttered, annoyed. “This is partially your fault, you know. That Weasley stubbornness.”

Ginny burst into disbelieving laughter. “Oh, right. Because Potters aren’t stubborn _at all_. Because _Potters_ don’t get it in their heads that they’re right about something and refuse to see it any other way. Because _Potters_ —”

He lifted up from his seat, catching her lips in an unexpected kiss. Ginny melted predictably, her hands barely having time to grasp his face before he pulled back.

“Gin,” Harry began. He took her hands in his. “I wish he’d gotten more from you and less from me.”

Ginny studied his aching eyes. Her heart was a swollen, stinging beast. Lately, she could’ve used a break from it, but there was no telling where those two would’ve ended up without its guiding light.

“Yeah, well,” she pulled her hands from his and gripped the edge of his desk. She leaned forward and pressed the lightest of kisses over Harry’s scar. “I don’t. I love you both just the way you are.”

* * *

_Dear Mum and Daddy,_

_I’m in Gryffindor! The Sorting Hat knew it before it even touched my hair. Rose said it wasn’t even that quick with her! I’m so happy. Mum, I have the bed you had when you were a first year! Right by the window on the left side. It’s very comfortable, probably the most comfortable. My dorm mates are very funny and nice. They are all muggleborns and they brought really cool books with them that I’ve never read and Scarlet has _braces on her teeth _! I asked her if Rose and Hugo’s Grandad Granger put them on, but she thought that was quite silly._

_I wish Hugo was here—it’s so annoying that he was born two months too late to come to Hogwarts this year, I wish Aunt Hermione had just had him sooner! Wasn’t she thinking about how much he would miss me and how much I would miss him?_

_I have my flying lessons with the Slytherin first years this morning. I’ll write again during lunch to tell you how it went if Saint is back from delivering this letter by then! I want to make the team this year. I will tell Madame Hooch what you told me, Mum. That I am versatile and fabulous, capable of both catching the snitch and scoring goals. A true Weasley-Potter product! _

_Daddy, Albus won’t talk to me. I tried to talk to him after the Sorting, but I think he’s angry with me. Do you think he thought I would be in Slytherin with him? Rose says to ignore him. James said he is angry at everybody. But I thought maybe he would spend more time with me here than at home. I guess I will keep trying. I really wanted him to show me his common room. He told me once that you can see the Giant Squid and the mermaids from the windows! Mum, will you tell him to take me there?_

_I miss you both already and I expect a letter back very soon!_  
  
_Love,_  
 _Lily Luna_

Ginny’s smile upon finishing her youngest child’s letter was bittersweet. She was glad to hear that she was doing well, but she missed her terribly already, and the letter had only served to make her even more worried about Albus. Regardless, she knew this letter would significantly cheer Harry up, so she carefully propped it up against his hot mug of tea. He’d been up all night again, tossing and waking multiple times throughout the night, so he’d slept in a bit later than usual that morning. Ginny had finalized that morning’s articles the day prior, so she wasn’t even heading into her office until later that afternoon. Judging by Harry’s continued slumber, he’d made a similar decision.

She’d reheated his tea with her wand three times before he finally stumbled into the kitchen. His hair was sticking up in every possible direction, his bare chest was imprinted with temporarily creases from the bedding, and he seemed to be having a difficult time keeping his eyes open. Ginny took one long look at him and then rose, crossing over to the cupboard. She accioed the box of sugar cubes hidden at the very back of the top shelf, walked back over to the table, and promptly dropped two into Harry’s still-steaming tea. It was one of those mornings, the sort that pleaded for exceptions. They exchanged an understanding look.

“Mmm, love you,” he mumbled, his mug already to his lips. Ginny settled into the seat beside his and reached over, settling her hand on his warm knee. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he eagerly opened up Lily’s folded letter. He chuckled as he read.

“She seems to forget that the muggle population of England is much larger than the wizarding one.” He commented.

Ginny was guilty of sometimes making similar misunderstandings, so she couldn’t blame her daughter.

“Oh, Madame Hooch is going to _love_ having our Lily. She’s going to drive her to retire, that one.” Harry said fondly. “On the team by the end of first year! You know, I’ll bet she will. I managed and she’s loads better than me.”

“She’s more confident than you, at least.”

“Confidence doesn’t catch the snitch.” Harry paused, looking down at her with a smirk. “Though it may score goals. Would explain away your record-breaking talent.”

Ginny yawned into Harry’s arm. “I long for the day you’ll admit I’m just inherently more talented at Quidditch than you are.”

“And miss out on this breakfast banter? Never.” He looked back at the letter, continuing on. Ginny knew the exact moment he read the part mentioning Albus, because his posture tensed against her.

“Do you think he did?” Harry finally asked, his voice small. He set Lily’s letter down carefully. She could feel his gaze against the top of her head.

“Do I think he did what?”

“Do you think Albus thought Lily would be sorted into Slytherin?”

Ginny frowned.

“I’ll bet he hoped for it.” She sat up and looked at Harry. “In a way, _I_ hoped for it. I know she’s not really a Slytherin. But I would’ve liked for him to have her there. I can’t stand the idea of him there alone. You know, it’s…it’s part of the reason why I wanted to have more than one child. The thought of a child alone in Hogwarts, without a sibling in the common room….” she trailed off. As annoying as it’d been at times to be surrounded by her brothers—and it had been _extremely annoying_ —she couldn’t imagine how frightening it would have been to be in another house without them.

“I was.” Harry reminded her lightly. He didn’t need to finish his sentence. _I was there alone. With no family._

“Yeah, well. You had Ron. And eventually, me.”

“He’s got Scorpius.” Harry pointed out, though Ginny couldn’t help but notice he sounded a bit begrudging, like it was an insult to Ron to imply that Scorpius was in any way for Albus what Ron had been for him. She felt it was a bit unfair. 

“And thank _Merlin_ for that.” She said firmly. She squeezed his knee. “Come on, let’s write Lily back and write the boys, too.”

* * *

_Mum,_

_Things are okay. Thank you for the letters. I’m sorry I haven’t replied in a while, I’ve been busy with lessons, and I haven’t had much to say. Hagrid taught me how to feed the Fire Crabs his fifth years are studying this month. We aren’t learning anything even slightly cool in our Care of Magical Creatures class…Hagrid has us caring for flobberworms. Scorpius is doing okay. He misses his mum. I wish I knew what to say to him to make it better. Mum, I miss you all the time, even more than last year. I can’t wait until Christmas, so I can come home._

_Love,_  
 _Albus_  
  
_P.S. tell_ Dad _thank you for the book, though I don’t think I’m even near good enough at DADA to learn a Patronus in my third year like he did._

“What’s that you’re reading?”

 

Ginny looked up from her desk, meeting the Minister for Magic’s eyes. Hermione’s face was full of compassionate concern, which told Ginny that Hermione knew _exactly_ what she was reading. She’d probably spotted the envelope atop the desk.

“Letter from Al. Albus,” she quickly corrected herself.

Hermione dropped down into the single chair in front of Ginny’s desk. She kicked her shoes off, arching her stockinged feet with a relieved sigh.

“How is he? Rose says he’s getting along better this year.”

Something slammed shut in Ginny’s heart.

“Then Rose is lying. He’s not getting on better. Things are just as bad—probably worse.” She snapped.

Her sister-in-law raised her eyebrows, taken aback. Ginny set the letter down and appraised Hermione.

“Did you know Rose won’t talk to him?” She demanded. Judging by the way Hermione’s eyes widened slightly, Rose had been telling more than just a few lies in her letters home. “She hasn’t been his friend since they started Hogwarts.”

Hermione shifted uneasily. “Who told you that?”

“James. Lily. Neville. _McGonagall_ , Hermione.” 

“Albus hasn’t told you this?”

“Of course he hasn’t. Do you think he wants to be the one to break the news that even his own cousin is bullying him for things he can’t control?”

She knew the moment she said it that she shouldn’t have. Hermione pursed her lips. Her eyes flashed in a way they only ever did when her children were ‘insulted’.

“That’s not fair, Ginny. From what Rose tells us, Albus isn’t exactly easy to get along with these days.” She paused. “From what _Harry_ tells Ron and I, he’s not, matter of fact.”

Ginny’s cheeks burned. Suddenly, irrationally, she felt furious with Harry. For talking about their son with Ron and Hermione in a way that might be unfavorable. For speaking of _her baby_ in any way that might make Hermione feel that Rose had an excuse for the way she’d treated Al.

Hermione realized she’d gone too far, too. She flushed, embarrassed.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean…” she trailed off, eyeing Ginny carefully. Trying to read where she was at, but she’d never been terribly good at reading her. Ron might’ve known she was close to tears. Harry, definitely. But Hermione had more trouble reading Ginny’s emotions than anyone else’s. Ginny sometimes thought it was because they expressed their emotions in such different ways.

“Albus is not a difficult child, Hermione. Albus is Albus. People only think he’s difficult because they don’t understand him.” Horribly, her eyes were searing. She didn’t want to cry in front of Hermione. That was the last thing she wanted. But it was suddenly becoming too much to bear.

“Be that as it may…” Hermione began cautiously. “He’s got to give as well as take, you know? He’s got to meet Rose halfway. She can only do so much.”

Ginny would’ve liked to have continued arguing, but she was certain that she was going to cry, and she didn’t want Hermione there when it happened. She’d give it a bit more time, and if things didn’t change, she’d go to Ron, who was easier to argue with than Hermione was. Years and years of practice screaming at him had its merits.

“Right. Well, I’ve got about a million articles to edit, and loads of owls to send. So.”

Hermione didn’t move for a long moment. She gripped the arms of the chair, uncertain. Ginny cleared her throat roughly and looked away as her tears obscured her vision. She hid her shaking hands beneath her thighs.

“Do you…I mean. Shall I get Harry?” Hermione whispered, hesitant.

“What for?” Ginny snapped. Pretending that her voice wasn’t thick. “I’ve really got a lot to be doing, Hermione. I’m sure you have more.”

Hermione rose painstakingly slowly.

“All right. I just wanted to…pop in. Say hello. I’ll see you and Harry tonight, okay? At the Burrow. You’re still coming, right?”

“Of course. We’ll be there.” Ginny said curtly.

“All right. Give Harry my love. I’ll give Ron yours.”

“Right.”

The minute her door was shut, she folded inwards. She wept harder than she had since Fred’s death, overwhelmed and tortured by her son’s sadness. _I miss you all the time_ , he’d written. Her Al. She cried until she couldn’t anymore, and then she made a decision.

* * *

 

“The what of the what?” Harry asked, baffled.

Ginny tossed another jumper into her bag.

“The Decadal Retirement of the Quaffle.” Ginny answered patiently. “Hogwarts plays a new quaffle every ten years. This first match will be the first game with this decade’s ball.”

“Since when…is that a celebrated occurrence? I’ve never even heard of that before. Really? They use the _same_ quaffle for _ten years_? Seems like it would get lost, or—”

“It’s a celebrated occurrence since I’ve _made it_ one. I’m the senior Quidditch correspondent; I edit the sports page; I decide what’s worth reporting on. And I’ve decided this is. So I am going to do an article on it, an article that will require me to remain at Hogwarts for two days, and that’s that.”

She zipped her bag with finality. There was a pause.

“So…to be clear. There is no such thing as a Decadal Retirement of a quaffle. You’re just going to check on the kids.”

“Of course I’m going to check on the kids. _A kid,_ really.” Ginny sat down on the bed beside Harry. “But if the editor of the _Prophet_ asks…”

“You’re doing the—decadal balls thing.”

Ginny’s lips twitched. “Right. The decadal balls thing.”

“And what am _I_ meant to do here alone? In an empty house?”

“I dunno. A decadal balls thing?” She teased. “It’ll be like old, pre-marriage times.”

He scoffed, though his lips were twitching and his ears had gone a bit red. “Ginny Potter, you’re crass.”

She half-bowed at the waist. “I do try, so it’s nice to feel appreciated.”

He laughed lightly, but he sighed quickly after. Ginny curled against his side and looked up at his jawline.

“You can come along, you know.” She pointed out. “Tell the Minister you’ve got important duties at Hogwarts. She’ll be eager to appease us, trust me. We had a bit of a run-in.”

“Yes, I heard. Ron poked me rather hard in the shoulder and said: ‘ _keep your wife from bullying mine_!’.”

Ginny snorted, amused. “Oh, that’s rich.”

She almost confronted Harry about what Hermione had said—about how he’d said Albus was difficult—but stopped short. She didn’t need to make him feel like he couldn’t trust his friends with his thoughts and feelings.

“I asked him why he didn’t just tell you himself. He didn’t really have an answer to that.”

“Not one that he’d readily admit. It’s two words and it’s _bat-bogey_.”

“Which is, in my opinion, an incredibly fair answer.” Harry commented.

“How diplomatic of you, Mr. Potter.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’d like to come along, but Gin…I think it might make it worse.”

Those words send another stab of pain shooting down into her gut, because they were probably true. It probably _would_ make things worse for Albus if his dad came along. And the sadness of that was gut-wrenching. For a moment, all Ginny could see was two-year-old Albus, toddling adoringly behind Harry, babbling nonstop to his _dada_ about anything and everything. Al would’ve followed Harry to the ends of the earth, and somewhere along the line, after he’d started Hogwarts, he’d convinced himself that Harry wouldn’t do the same for him.

“I’ll give him your love.” Ginny said.

Harry smiled sadly. He sniffed. “Please do.”

* * *

 

Ginny arrived early the day of the match. She was already down at the pitch by the time the teams arrived to begin getting ready. She was greeted by excited shrieks and two sets of arms, squeezing her to the point of pain.

“Mummy!!”

“Aunt Ginny!”

Ginny kissed the tops of both girls’ heads at least three times, hugging them back with equal strength, overjoyed to see both her little girl and her niece, even _if_ that niece hadn’t been acting in the best way these past few terms. She was further overjoyed to pull back and find that Lily was in Quidditch robes.

“Lily!” She cried, surprised. “You didn’t say—”

“The seeker’s ill, Mum! Isn’t that _wonderful_?!” Lily beamed. She twirled around and around in a fit of dizzying elation. “I get to stand in for her today! On the _first match_!”

Rose puffed out her chest. “I told Stein—our captain—that she was an obvious choice.”

Ginny smiled at Rose, but it was a bit tight. She looked back at her daughter and swept her into another hug, pressing kisses to Lily’s cheek.

“I’m so proud of you! I can’t wait to tell your father!”

Lily giggled even harder at that, pleased beyond comprehension at the thought of Ginny telling Harry about this. When it came to her relationship with Harry, Lily’s was the complete opposite of Albus’.

“Aunt Ginny, are you reporting on the match?” Rose exclaimed, tugging at Ginny’s cloak sleeve, impatient for her attention once more.

Ginny looked back towards Rose, and when she did, she was arrested with affection due to the expression on Rose’s face. It was such a _Ron_ expression—over-eager but a bit apprehensive—and Ginny couldn’t help but sweep Rose back into her arms. Rose permitted her aunt to kiss her hair again, and once Ginny pulled back, Rose called down the pitch loudly that _Ginny Potter, Holyhead Harpies’ most famed chaser_ , was _her_ aunt. Lily clung to Ginny’s hand and grinned, indifferent to the attention her mother was suddenly gathering, single-mindedly interested in just being with her mother. Ginny signed a few scraps of parchment for a few of the Quidditch players, kissed her daughter and niece, and then made her way to the stands as the teams retreated to the changing rooms.

* * *

 

Ginny meandered throughout the stands as they filled. She hugged and kissed her niece Roxanne, spent five minutes laughing with Luna’s twin boys, and then she was ambushed by James. He hugged her and lifted her clear off the ground.

“Mum!” He celebrated. He’d developed an extreme phobia towards expressing much affection for his parents in public once he’d turned twelve, so Ginny was surprised by the extremely affectionate way he greeted her—in front of all his friends, no less. It warmed her already bursting heart. She peered up into her firstborn’s face (once he’d returned her to the ground), pleased to find he looked happy, well-rested, and well-fed. “What are you doing here?!”

“Writing an article,” she answered. She’d barely had time to get those brief words out before James was excitedly introducing nearly every member of Gryffindor house to her, overjoyed and proud. Ginny hardly had any time to speak to James before she had to return to her seat for the match. She imagined a part of him was suffering as he watched the match; he’d been a beater until the end of last term, thanks to a poorly thought out prank involving a bludger and a classroom. Served him right, Ginny thought, though it hadn’t curbed his mischievousness even slightly. Secretly, Ginny was glad for it. 

* * *

 

The match was intense. Gryffindor won, but _barely_. The Hufflepuff chasers were exceptionally good and managed to stack up 260 points to Gryffindor’s 115. Lily managed to snag the snitch right before Hufflepuff scored another goal, ensuring a win for Gryffindor, 265 to 260. The Hufflepuffs were uncharacteristically bitter afterwards (and for good reason).

Ginny swung Lily around on the pitch afterwards, beaming at her overjoyed giggles.

“Mum, can we Floo Daddy? _Please_? Neville will let us use his! Please?!” She begged, over and over. After taking one look at Lily’s smiling face, Ginny conceded.

“Sure, Lily. I don’t see why not. Let’s hurry though; you’ve got a party to get to!”

A brief sting of nostalgia pierced her as they walked towards Neville’s office, her thoughts on all the parties in the Gryffindor common room she’d experienced as a student. The one in which Harry ambushed her with a kiss was undoubtedly the favorite.

She was wrapped up in that memory, walking hand-in-hand with Lily down a path so familiar she could’ve walked it with her eyes shut, when Lily let out a sudden cry. Ginny’s heart stopped, worried, but she looked up to find her second son in front of them. He hadn’t noticed his mother yet; Lily had thrown herself into Albus’ arms, elated, and he was staring down at her in shock, as if he’d never been hugged in his entire life. Ginny swallowed thickly.

“I won, I won, I won, I won!” Lily cried into Albus’ chest, her words muffled.

“Er…congratulations, Lily.” Albus finally murmured, a bit begrudgingly. “…Could you let go of me now?”

“No!” Lily beamed. “I’m still hugging you.”

Albus reached down and firmly detached his little sister from him. She wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

“No, you’re not.” Albus said flatly.

“Can _I_ hug you?” Ginny finally spoke up.

Albus’ eyes snapped to her immediately, hope shining within them. And quickly, so quickly that she may’ve imagined it, a radiant smile bloomed over Albus’ face, one truer than any she’d seen since he’d started Hogwarts.

“ _Mum,”_ he said. Quietly, relieved. A far cry from the shrieks of joy James and Lily had given, but somehow much more affectionate. Much more genuine. Ginny crossed the space between them and pulled her middle child into her arms, holding him tightly. She kissed his hair and sniffed, overcome with more emotion than she ever would’ve admitted. He sank into her embrace like she’d just saved his life: relieved, weathered.

“Hey, Albus.” She finally greeted.

“You got my letter.” He realized.

She found no point in pretending she’d come for the Quidditch match. “I got your letter.” She affirmed.

He pulled back and looked up at her, his smile so wide that his dimple made an appearance. For a moment, she thought she saw tears forming in his eyes, and she felt hopeful that she’d be able to get through to him this time, that for _once_ she’d be able to find out what was hurting him, that she’d be able to help it—

“Mum,” Lily sighed, impatient. “We’ve got to hurry and Floo Dad! Or we’ll miss the party!”

Her son shut down before she could do a thing to stop it. He went rigid, his eyes hardened, and he was out of her embrace. He pursed his lips.

“Well, I won’t keep you.” He said.

“Al—”

“It’s _Albus_.” He bit.

Ginny faltered, not used to him taking that tone with her. With Harry—yes. But with her?

“I’m fine, Mum. Good to see you. Really. But you’ve got to tell Dad what his talented child did and then you Gryffindors have got a party to attend.”

He was stalking down the hall before she’d even begun responding. She made to go after him, but Lily grabbed her hand, whining.

“ _Mum_! Let him go! He’s just like that all the time.”

He disappeared around the corner. Ginny glanced down at Lily.

“Lily, go on to Neville without me. He’ll help you contact your dad. I’ll see you in a bit, okay? What’s the password?”

She knew she really ought to ask McGonagall’s permission to crash the Gryffindor Quidditch party, but she felt there were other things more pressing at the moment. She could always write it off as a _Prophet_ thing.

“It’s _conservation_!” Lily told her. Without another word, she was scampering off towards Neville’s office.

* * *

 

Ginny grew tired of searching the halls after a half-hour passed. She considered Flooing Harry herself, to make him check the Marauder’s Map for Albus, but that’d feel like defeat in a way. In a fit of hopelessness, she popped into the library. She didn’t spot her son’s shock of messy, black hair, but she did spot another familiar face. She approached and sank down into the seat across from him quietly. He looked up, did a double-take, and then smiled.

“Mrs. Potter! Mrs Albus’ Mum!” Scorpius stage-whispered. He was as bubbly as normal, but there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and he looked a bit thinner than the last time she’d seen him.

“Hello, Scorpius. It’s good to see you—how are you doing?” She asked quietly.

“Fine—good—okay. One of those. All of them. Erm.” He hesitated. “Is everything okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yes! Everything’s fine. I’m here for the _Prophet_. Have you…well, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Albus within the past few minutes, have you?”

Scorpius shook his head. “He was going to the dorms to get our Transfiguration books, but he hasn’t come back yet.” He paused for a moment. He seemed to be mulling over whether or not to say something. “You should go see him. You should.”

“Yes, I think I ought to, too. I’m a bit worried about him.”

“He knows you are.” Scorpius nodded.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to escort me to the Slytherin common room?”

He eyed her. “Do you think I’ll get in trouble?”

She laughed despite herself. “Do you think I’d let you get in trouble?”

His face warmed with a sudden smile. “No, no, Potters are protective. That’s a _fact_. Come along!”

Ginny followed Scorpius down to the dungeon common rooms, making gentle small-talk the entire walk, careful not to bring up anything particularly upsetting. Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed to have no filter.

“My dad told me you wrote to him. After…my mum.”

Ginny blinked, surprised.

“Oh. Yes.”

“He said you offered to have me over for the summer.”

“Yes. I did.”

He looked up at her, his expression soft. “He wasn’t big on the idea, but it was really nice for you to invite me. And it meant a lot. To Albus, too. I told him.”

Ginny was taken aback by his openness, his gentle heart. For the first time, she entirely understood her son’s fondness for Scorpius. Albus had an equally tender heart.

“Here we are. _Nigellus._ ” At the sound of the password, a passageway revealed itself along the stone walls. Ginny followed after Scorpius with interest, having never been inside the place her son had spent his school years thus far. When she stepped into the low room, she was at first arrested by the grandeur of it all. Whereas the Gryffindor common room was homey and warm, this common room was sharp and cool, with low-hanging green lanterns, dark wooden floors, and black leather sofas. Ginny felt uneasy and cold as she entered into it, but after turning on the spot a few times, she realized it made sense. It made sense that Albus was here. It seemed like a place he’d like—she could easily imagine him curled up on one of the sofas, resting comfortably. She knew he’d found the green calming, the leather cool and comfortable, the shifting shadows of the water behind the windows soothing. And because of that, she relaxed, too.

“Greener than you’d imagined, I bet.” Scorpius commented lightly. Ginny looked down at him and laughed. He beamed, pleased. “I’ll go find Albus.”

“Thank you.” Ginny told him, hoping he could hear how deeply she meant it. He must’ve, because he beamed again, and seemed to trip over his feet as he hurried backwards towards the steps leading to the dorms.

* * *

 

It was at least ten minutes before Albus came down into the common room. Ginny had found a comfy spot on one of the leather sofas and was in the middle of a stare-off with a seventh year Slytherin, whose greatest complaint towards Ginny’s presence had been _you’re a Gryffindor!_ when it should’ve been: _you’re an adult!_

The seventh year finally broke her glower as Albus approached. Ginny leaned back against the sofa, victorious for a brief moment. And then she looked at her son.

It was obvious he’d been crying. Sobbing, more like it. His entire face was puffy and his nose was still running. His eyes were bloodshot and his eyelashes were clinging together. Ginny immediately patted the space beside her, and for a moment she feared he’d refuse. But within a second’s time, he’d thrown himself down beside her and into her arms.

She was glad the common room was relatively empty. Her staring-opponent was in a corner now, but she was the only person except for a first-year student who was nervously practicing the levitation charm with such an intensity that made Ginny certain she hadn’t even noticed Ginny Potter in her common room.

“Al,” Ginny began, her voice soft and only loud enough for Albus to hear. “I didn’t come here to party in Gryffindor Tower. I came here to see you. I’d _never_ come to visit only to spend all my time excluding you.”

“B-but Lily and James—”

“What have Lily and James got to do with _Albus_?” Ginny asked patiently.

He fell silent at that. He sniffled and cried into her top like he’d done as a little boy more times than she could count. She patted his back, stroked his messy hair, and tried not to cry herself.

“I know things are difficult,” she began. He cried even harder at that. “I know you’re sad. I know things are hard here…I know it’s not what you’d imagined. What your dad and I always hoped it’d be. But you can’t ever let that define you. Do you understand?”

He nodded against her, but Ginny felt he was merely parroting back what he thought she wanted to hear.

“Hogwarts wasn’t what I thought I’d be, either.” She admitted. “I went thinking it’d be amazing, that I’d have a string of never-ending laughs with Fred and George, that I’d get to hang around with Ron and his friends. And instead, I ended up possessed by Lord Voldemort for the majority of the year. I was responsible for horrible, horrible things. Well,” she paused, amending her statement. “I suppose in mind I wasn’t responsible, but in body…”

She trailed off. Albus was sitting up now, looking at her, his tears slowly drying on his cheeks. She reached up and wiped them from his face.

“When I mention that year to your siblings, I always say _‘you can’t imagine how frightened and sad I was’_. But Al, I think _you_ probably can.” She studied his damp green eyes. “It took me a while to move on. I felt very much alone. Your uncles helped some, your father, your grandparents, Aunt Hermione…” she paused. “But do you know who helped the most?”

Albus shook his head, his lips parted slightly, seemingly entranced in this detailed version of the story—a version she’d never given her children before.

“I did. Because I forgave myself for what I did, for the way I felt, and I gave myself room to be happy in the way _Ginny_ wanted to be happy. Everybody was full of advice the summer following my first year. Percy said I ought to focus on catching up on my studies. Ron said I ought to relax and enjoy the attention. Fred and George actually let me tag along with them a few times while they were playing Quidditch. But while those things made _them_ happy, they didn’t ever make me feel entirely better. At the end of the day, I still felt miserable.”

He spoke up. “So what did you do?”

Ginny smiled. “Oh, I did what _I_ wanted to do. I went from stealing their brooms for a few minutes at a time to taking them out for hours each night. I flew by myself, practiced shooting goals, climbed the apple trees and ate fruit until I felt sick. Once your granddad realized I’d been sneaking out of the house, I joined him every night in his shed, and we’d laugh and eat leftovers and chat about everything _but_ the Chamber.” Ginny smiled fondly. “It wouldn’t have been appropriate therapy for anybody else. But for Ginny Weasley…it was perfect.”

Albus waited patiently. Ginny set her hand on his cheek.

“The point of my speech, Al, is that it’s not up to me to decide what makes you happy. You’re the one who decides that, and I accept it. Whatever it is—as long as it’s not hurting anybody—is fine. You don’t have to be like James and Lily to be happy. You don’t have to have dozens of friends, you don’t have to play Quidditch, you don’t have to laugh at Uncle Ron’s lame jokes. But you _do_ have to let yourself be happy. Okay? I don’t want you to punish yourself. There’s no reason for it. You’re a wonderful boy, special in so many ways that are unique to Albus Potter. You fill a place in my heart that nobody else could ever fill. And it’s enough for me, as your mum, to see you happy. That is _all_ I want. I don’t expect anything else. I just want you to be _you_ and to be happy about it.”

For a moment, she thought he might shut down and scamper back off to his dorm. But after a moment of blinking rapidly, he fell back into her embrace.

“Mum,” he whispered, and his voice sounded younger than Ginny had heard it sound in years. “Why doesn’t Dad feel that way, too?”

Ginny’s heart lurched. “Al, he _does_. He just doesn’t know how to express it the right way.”

Albus shook his head immediately. “He doesn’t, Mum. He’s not like you. When you say things, I know you mean them. When Dad says them, it sounds like he’s just saying what he thinks he has to say.”

“He has a difficult time expressing things. He wasn’t raised like you and I were, Albus. He wasn’t raised to be open about how he felt, to confide in people, to seek and give comfort. He was raised to be as sparse as possible. Honestly, I think he’s a bit overwhelmed at times. He’s not used to needing to give emotional reassurance. James and Lily never needed it, he married a witch generously sure of herself, his friends never had to doubt where they stood. He’s just not practiced with reassuring somebody that he loves them, because to him, it should be a given. It should be the most obvious thing in the world. I’m sure he looks at you, Albus, and he thinks _of course I love him. How could I not_?”

Albus scoffed. He sniffled afterwards. Ginny continued.

“He says it all the time. But the important thing is that he _means it_ every time. When Harry says _I love you_ , it’s not like when most people say _I love you_. He wasn’t a child who heard it all the time, for every little thing. For him, when he says it…” Ginny trailed off, her throat narrowing. “He means it, with every part of him. Just because he doesn’t always communicate it well…that doesn’t take away from the truth of that.”

“But how do I know that he doesn’t just say it to me because he feels like he _has_ to? Because he says it to James and Lily?” Albus asked miserably.

Ginny was quiet for a moment. She leaned back and peered down at her little boy, at his vulnerable, wounded eyes. She held in her mind’s eye a vision of him the night he was born, tiny, beautiful, incredibly fragile.

“Did you know,” Ginny began, carefully and seriously. “That it took your dad an entire year to say the words _I love you_ to me?”

Albus blinked. “Really? But he…you know. Loves you loads. And stuff.”

He grimaced, like the thought of his parents loving each other was disgusting. Ginny laughed.

“Of course he does. And he says it to me all the time now. But did you know that the _moment_ he saw you, Albus, the very _moment_ , the first thing he said to you was: _I love you, I love you, I love you_.”

Albus swallowed roughly. He ducked his head, embarrassed. Ginny pressed on.

“That hasn’t changed. And do you know what else?”

“What?”

“It never will.”

* * *

 

_Mum and Dad,_

_Today in Care of Magical Creatures we met hippogriffs. It bowed to me first, out of all my classmates. It’s very rare that I am best at anything, so everybody was surprised. But I really liked the hippogriffs. Scorpius was less confident—he said one once attacked his dad—but he eventually got on all right with it._  
  
_Things are okay. I can’t wait to be home. Lessons could be worse, I guess._  
  
_Love,_  
 _Albus_

“’Lessons could be worse, I guess’,” Harry quoted. He set the letter down and then turned, smiling at Ginny. “Gin, that’s practically an ‘I love lessons!’ coming from Albus!”

Ginny smiled. She was feeling cautiously optimistic.

“And, look,” she pointed at the top of the letter. “You were actually addressed in this one.”

Harry beamed widely. He looked more pleased with that than he’d been with his Order of Merlin, First Class.

“I was. I’m going to reply now.” He said eagerly. He reached for parchment, but Ginny grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“Let’s just…give him the day. We don’t want to overwhelm him.”

Harry nodded. “Right. Right, good.” He glanced sideways at her. Ginny smiled down at her mug, pretending not to notice. “You did a good job talking to him.”

It wasn’t a question. Ginny nodded.

“As well as possible, anyway.”

He smiled, but it seemed strained. Ginny didn’t have any issues reading him. _I’m so glad you could help him, and I’m so glad you can talk to him, but I wish that I could, too_.

“It’s going to take time, Harry.” She said softly. She reached for his hands. His were warm from his mug. “You’ve both got a lot of baggage to juggle amongst yourselves. Be patient with each other.”

The right side of his lips quirked up for a moment. “Well, you know patience has never been a talent of mine.”

“No, definitely not. Still. You’ll get there. I’m positive of it.”

“How do you know?” It was uttered with a feigned indifference, which might’ve worked on anybody else. But Ginny could hear the desperation underneath his tone.

“Because I know your heart inside and out. And it’s what I believe in above all else.”

* * *

 

That morning, Rita Skeeter ran a photo of Harry and Ginny, tiredly glaring at the intrusive camera. Beneath it, the headline: _Potters’ Pain: Is the Wizarding World’s Most Beloved Couple Separating?_

Ginny read it aloud to Harry during their lunch break, her head resting in his lap and his fingers stroking through her hair.

“‘Mrs Ginevra Potter—who is almost certainly certifiably unstable—seems to have spent the past few months in a state of depression. Her husband, Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world, has been oddly short with me when approached with concerns for his wife’s wellbeing. Is he hiding something? Should we be concerned that Mrs Potter is in danger? Or is the truth something more disturbing…does Mr Potter simply no longer care for the mother of his children?’”

Ginny paused, too overcome with laughter to continue. Harry scoffed.

“I ought to go arrest her right now!”

“Eh, leave her be. I’m fine with this rubbish as long as she leaves our children out of it. What’s another ‘Ginny is mad’ press tirade in the grand scheme of things?”

“Yeah, she does tend to favor that one. I guess that’s what you get for hexing her at the Quidditch World Cup a few years back.”

“She had it coming. I don’t regret it.” Ginny sniffed. “Though, you know, Mrs Potter _is_ in danger.”

“Is she, now? From what? Being kissed to death?” Harry snorted.

Ginny beamed. “Precisely. And what a way to go! Come here, Potter.”

She yanked his lips down to meet hers, overcome with love for him and love for the life they’d built together—Rita Skeeter nosiness and all.


End file.
